


Not Without You

by shaniacbergara



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare.





	Not Without You

Crowley couldn’t remember when he’d started running. He just knew that if he didn’t get to the bookshop soon, there’d be trouble. He leapt over a bench, weaved in and out of traffic as he sprinted, heart hammering. Why hadn’t he taken the Bentley? He would have gotten there quicker if he’d taken the Bentley. He couldn’t find Aziraphale, but that didn’t matter. Aziraphale would be in the bookshop, just like always. He would be there. He’d be there. He raced up the street, and it didn’t occur to him that the street was deserted, not a single pedestrian. 

And there-but no-the bookshop was burning. He staggered to a halt, but there was no time. He burst into motion again, why wasn’t anyone trying to put the fire out? Where was Aziraphale? He burst through the doors, reveling in how his arms burnt as he forced his way through. 

“Aziraphale!” He screamed, and his throat ached as though he’d been screaming this whole time. “Aziraphale!” There was no answer. Why couldn’t he find him? Six thousand years of knowing where he was, of making sure he wasn’t hurt. He coughed into his palms, and they came away blackened with soot. 

“Aziraphale! Please!” He screamed until there weren’t any words left, just a long, tortured wail. But he remembered. There was something he was supposed to get. He needed something here, something besides Aziraphale. A book? He pawed through the tattered volumes, his hands scorching as he touched burning paper. But the titles swam before his eyes. He couldn’t read them, he remembered learning to read, all those years ago, Cuneiform, first, then the others. But he couldn’t make the titles make sense. 

When the stream of water hit him, the wind was knocked from his lungs.

Crowley woke, gasping for air. He sat, bolt up right, coughing and hacking as he tried to breathe. He turned, immediately, instinctively, to his left, but the other side of the bed was vacant. Fear gripped him, and he was on his feet in an instant, as he sprinted out of the room and down the steps. He burst into the shop, chest heaving, eyes wide.

“Aziraphale?” He called, and his voice sounded raw. He rushed through the shop. “Aziraphale?” His face was wet. He reached the back room, where Aziraphale did all of his accounting for all the books he didn’t sell. He was there, dozing in his armchair, a cup of rapidly cooling tea off to one side of his desk, a copy of Shakespeare’s complete works open on his lap. His reading glasses still perched lightly on the bridge of his nose. Crowley fell to his knees and wept. The second his knees hit the floor, Aziraphale stirred, and when he took in the scene in front of him, he sprang up.

“Crowley.” He breathed, rushing over, falling to his own knees in front of him. Crowley’s face was in his hands, but he lifted it slowly as Aziraphale’s hands grasped his biceps.   
“Aziraphale?” He scrubbed at his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“What on earth happened, dearest?” Aziraphale reached towards Crowley’s face, and Crowley’s eyes, so vulnerable without his usual guard, fluttered shut as Aziraphale wiped his tears. This act of tenderness, this gentle touch sent Crowley into a heaving sob once again. 

“I couldn’t-I wasn’t-” He couldn;t get himself together, Aziraphale was gently helping him up, guiding him to his chair. When he was able to open his eyes again, Aziraphale was kneeling in front of him, rubbing soothing circles into his knees. 

“Take a sip of water, dearest.” He gestured to his desk, willing the glass into existence. Crowley obeyed, it was an old trick he used to use with Warlock. You couldn’t cry if you were drinking water. Sure enough, it calmed him. That, and Aziraphale’s aura, a calming presence, with a tinge of worry and concern around the edges. A deep, everlasting blue, like the ocean. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking at Aziraphale desperately. Aziraphale shook his head. 

“What was it?” He asked, cupping Crowley’s face in his hand. “The fall?” He shook his head desperately.

“The fire, Aziraphale.” He admitted, and it felt like it was being ripped from his throat. 

“What fire?” 

“Here, the bookshop. It was burning, and I couldn’t get to you fast enough. Couldn’t find you. You weren’t anywhere and everything was ash and I couldn;t even-” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I couldn’t save you, couldn’t get to you in time.” Crowley’s eyes had fallen to his lap, his breath still coming in gasps. 

“Look at me.” Aziraphale requested. Crowley shook his head.

“It’s fine, angel. Silly.” He said, his heart refusing to slow.

“Look at me.” He repeated, more insistently this time. Slowly, Crowley followed his directive. Aziraphale was looking at him with such intensity that Crowley felt it in his ribs, in his lungs, in his gut, in his wings. “I would not have left without you.: And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? The heart of it all. Crowley doubled over again, his head falling into Aziraphale’s open hands. Fingers stroked through his hair as he tried to regain his composure.

“Tell me again?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, and fear grew in Crowley’s heart. “You tell me.”

“You...you…” He tried, hiccuping.

“Tell me, dearest. Tell me the truth. Tell me what you know.”

“You wouldn’t have left without me.” He was hiccuping, crying, tears on his face and on Aziraphale’s palms. 

“Again?” He requested, and Crowley felt himself being lifted, carried.   
“You wouldn’t have left without me. You wouldn’t have left without me.” He was laid down on Aziraphale’s side of the bed. Aziraphale clambered over him, lying down next to him on Crowley’s side. Crowley was surrounded by that smell, tea and old books and sunshine and Aziraphale. He sighed, looking up at Aziraphale through his lashes. 

“I’m here.” He reminded him. “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> YA GIRLS BEEN HAVING NIGHTMARES LMAO


End file.
